


The Lovers (Reversed)

by CorsetJinx



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, spoilers for the game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 04:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5991931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorsetJinx/pseuds/CorsetJinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An attempt to flesh out what the past might have been like for Urick and Yaha, what their relationship was before Urick left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lovers (Reversed)

The dirt is loosely packed beneath his feet, turning fair skin into darker brown but it doesn’t register to him as he runs. There is sound, everywhere, jeering sound; laughter bouncing in his head as if the owner were chasing him. He tries to filter it out, listening for one voice in particular. Eyes track him as he runs, clothes loose and slightly ill-fitting, golden hair barely shielding pointed ears from view. He only slows down once he feels enough distance has been put between him and the things behind, then he carefully drags in a deeper breath to fill burning lungs.

He is safe. As safe as an elf-child can be amongst humans.

Little feet resume their movement, a slower pace than before. Now he is looking for someone else, absently lifting an arm to scrub at his face, his mouth in particular. The hunched, miserably gray building before him is home to many of the former Empire and Union’s orphans; too small for all of them there are scattered bodies in the dirt, huddling under scraps of cloth or the roof’s overhang. A few are brave enough, desperate enough, to brace themselves against the huddle of other buildings in the near vicinity. This late, he knows his spot is likely to be taken- his stomach grumbles in complaint but he tightens fading rose lips in a look of almost adult nonchalance.

Scanning the bodies close by and not finding his target, he almost decides to dare the interior of the building. It might be worth the beating of returning so late if he could find his friend.

A nod to himself and he turns towards the wall, about to walk around to the back entrance when a hand closes over his arm and pulls. Fear flashes through his mind, bile roiling in his disgruntled belly and he nearly yells.

“Shh, Yaha. You’ll get us both caught!”

The rush of relief is dizzying, his knees faintly trembling in the aftermath. He turns too quick to look at the owner of the voice, a tingle of happiness moving through his thin frame. Indeed, it is his friend, his only and dearest friend; mop of pale hair nearly hiding the humor in gentle blue-gray eyes. The grip on his arm is gentle now, a thumb rubbing over whatever bruise the human child thinks he may have caused. The contact makes the other boy warm up from within, a genuine smile lighting up the fey features.

“I am sorry, Urick. You scared me.”

The boy before him snorts out a laugh, squeezing the arm he holds captive in reassurance. Yaha does not realize when he steps forward, closer, as if to savor it, but he does with a smaller smile playing across his face. “I’m sorry I got back so late,” he carefully untangles himself from the taller boy, reaching under his shirt for the treasure he’d stashed away, “but I have this. For you.”

He holds it out, amber eyes keenly searching for approval from the now bemused Urick. When his friend doesn’t take it, he bobs his hand gently in a ‘go on’ motion. Urick’s eyes drop from him to the bag, then back before he reaches for it. The brush of fingers is accidental, but only one of them really notices.

“You didn’t have to. Is that where that came from?”

A hand rises to hide a smudge of uncertain origin on his face with a flicker of guilt. The elf scrubs at it, irked that evidence had been left behind. To his friend he only shrugged, expression shifting from abashed to content at the sight of the present in its intended’s hands.

“You’re my friend, Urick. You do much for me, so that is the least I could do.”

Perhaps it is a trick of the twilight, but Urick’s eyes seem to linger on the side of the fairer boy’s face, drawn to the blemish on pale skin. The gaze retreated to the bun in his hand, shape of the limb rougher, broader than Yaha’s elfish one.

“We’ll split it. You did the work, and missed dinner for it.”

Like a candle struck with flame he watches the other boy light up from the inside, golden eyes widening before settling in a look of pleased contentment. He’d expected a refusal, but Yaha only nods once as his mouth moves into a shy, happy smile.

“If you say so, Urick.”

Rolling his eyes, he jerks his head towards a different side of the building. Taking his hint, they walk together towards what will be their bed for the night.

Eyes of different sorts watch them go.

-

“Why an axe, Urick?” The voice is soft, lilting and pleasant to the ear. It matches its owner more now, as Yaha has grown taller, nearly slim with the beginning stages of adolescence, and his amber eyes now look at the world with a placid gaze. By contrast, his friend has grown broad in the shoulders and taller than he already was- the orphanage’s owner made no secret of wanting to turn them both out, but Urick bargained for them to stay a little longer with the promise of labor.

He’d thought that Yaha might leave, given the promise of freedom, but here the fair boy stayed, assisting him with whatever menial chore they found.

“It’s easy enough to swing, and I’m already familiar with it. Besides, it’s better than your pretty stick to hunt monsters with.” The teasing edge in the human’s voice makes a laugh bubble out of his companion, both of them indulging in humor for a few moments.

“But I am the one with superior magic, dear Urick.” Yaha’s eyes soften, tender amber in that moment. Nothing about the almost-teen was hard, not at first glance. It made people look twice and, at times, stare. Urick merely rolled his eyes, following suit with one shoulder. The weapon in his hands gleamed dully in the afternoon light, heavy-looking and sinister.

The staff in question remained in one pale hand, sharpened blade angled towards the dirt as it was not in use. A slim thing, beautiful and simple in design. Elvish by appearance.

It suited the owner.

“Keep your magic, Yaha. I don’t think I’ll ever be any good at making tornadoes and whirling around like you do.” A muffled slap barely made impact enough to produce sound, the blow to the human’s arm absolutely negligible.

“I might teach you, for a small favor.” Sunlight made the gold of the elf’s eyes deeper, outlining the fine lines of his face. Something was visible there, in the smile, the look. It made Urick shift and turn away, lightness of his voice making a safe haven for uncertainty.

“Nah. I might cause the canyon to collapse, with my luck.”

A frown touched his friend’s face, just for a moment, hand lifting then lowering in an aborted gesture. To touch, if only to feel, if not reassure.

They were silent, something weaving a gap between them and the fickle light.

“They say there is a group forming. Knights who want to uphold order now that there is a Goddess.” Blue meet gold, at ease now that the peculiar depth of that unknown look had gone. The elf canted his head, suddenly curious. “You want to join them?” In spite of the question, he supposed Yaha knew him well enough to already guess the answer.

The elf watched his friend nod, smiling as the taller boy twirled the wicked axe in his grip. Musculature was beginning to develop in him, making him hard and steady where the elf was not. Still, there was that mop of pale hair, the kind blue eyes and humor.

It was enough.

“I do.”

This time the elf nodded, rubbing his thumb over the haft of the stave in his grip.

“I will as well.”

-

Oror is a welcoming man, and already the ranks of the Knights are growing. Verdelet sets down the rules for this new order and people are set in their respective places amongst this fledgling organization. As squires he sees much and little of Urick. They train and train and take lessons as necessary and then some. It is the first opportunity of an education and they leap at it. Urick is quick to make friends, his laughter and joking manner smoothing the way. Even Oror has come to be close to the younger man, sharing words of advice or mirth.

Yaha speaks little and smiles in place of words. Eyes are drawn to him and he lowers his head so as not to acknowledge them. But Oror is kind, there is no malice in his praise. Sometimes he lets his eyes linger on the older captain, just enough to look and wonder.

Oror’s hands are broad and strong, and it is a thing that makes his heart quicken.

His eyes linger longer on Urick when they meet for meals and training, taking in the changing lines and planes of his dearest companion. The pale skin he’s seen for years darkens under sun and leaves a boyish rogue now a handsome young man. His hair only changes in its length, and he tries to make it a point to brush it for the older teen.

Urick blinks at him, eyes widened and lips parted- he realizes how very badly he wants to lean in and feel them. Taste them. Then the other boy is laughing, patting his shoulder with a heavy hand and agrees on the condition that he not tear the roots from his head.

Yaha smiles at him, fingertips and belly alight with want he only barely understands.

It strikes him then how different they are, elf and human.

When they’ve a moment and he finds a comb, convinces Urick to settle into a chair and be still he carefully coaxes the tangles from nearly white strands. Urick chuckles through it, occasionally wincing when he has to wrestle with a stubborn knot.

He is warm beneath the elf’s slim hands and Yaha cannot help but draw his fingers through the sections of hair now free of snares. The taller boy sighs under the treatment, easing into a relaxed state. It makes him remember the nights at the orphanage, when they huddled together under the roof overhang or in a corner of a room. The warmth climbs through him again, making his fingers tremble and his breath hitch.

“You alright?” The head turns, eyes meet his with concern and he wonders what they see.

People look at him, have always looked at him because he is an elf and elves are few now thanks to the Empire and there are few willing to trust one. Urick looks at him as he always has, kind and curious, seemingly uninterested in anything but his friendship and well-being.

It draws a knot tight in his chest and riddles his confusion with frustration, affection (love?) with bemusement.

He still leans forward, barely having to stoop to press his lips against Urick’s temple. The skin his warm, nearly hot, and he relishes the flutter of the man’s pulse under his lips and the tickle of his hair. His hands rest on Urick’s shoulders, comb tucked between two fingers, but even so he feels the muscles tense in response to the sudden display of affection.

Whatever enjoyment he is getting from this moment is not mutual and it hurts as if someone has jabbed a pressure point.

He sharply blows hot air into Urick’s hair, making it flutter and the man jerk away with a startled laugh. Curves his lips into his gentlest smile as he raps the other on the arm with the comb, voice lilting as ever.

“Of course I am. Only disappointed you do not take better care of yourself.”

Under the mirth, he thinks he sees hesitation in blue eyes. As if his little deceit is not taken for truth, but the truth is not quite what either of them is ready to face. Urick smiles at him, the edges forced and careful, and his fingers are slow when he takes the comb from his lax grip.

His friend opts for gentleness, as he always does it seems.

“Well, I’d better learn for myself right?”

Yaha tries to laugh with him at that, stepping back from the man as he stands and drags the comb through his hair in quick, preoccupied strokes. He paces as he does, eyes everywhere but on the elf.

“I’ll uh… I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Yaha.”

He barely finishes his response before Urick out of the room, long legs devouring the distance towards the door and the hall to the barracks beyond.

-

Urick does not avoid him as much as puts an emotional distance between them. He feels at a loss- upset that he has driven his friend away, frustrated that his affection is the cause and unwilling to smother it behind a mask. He apologizes instead.

It is small, brief and as private as their strained bond allows. Urick had looked uncomfortable when he’d asked for his company, and now he appeared torn between surprise and… something. It irked him that he could not name it, nearly as much as wanting for something so close and unable to take that step.

In the silence he kept his gaze lowered, trying not to twist his hands.

He’d never been afraid of losing Urick before.

A cough drew his eyes up, his more sensitive ears catching the shifting of fabric as the other man tried to find a comfortable stance. One hand was tangled in that pale hair, but the lips he wanted to kiss were drawn downward. He glanced away.

“You’re my friend, Yaha. I… I’m not sure about anything else.”

“Yes. I understand. I am sorry I put this between us, Urick.” Amber met blue, and neither of them moved from their muted defenses. They stay like that, Urick’s body turned from him slightly with that hand rubbing nervously at the back of his neck and him with his eyes cast to the side, shoulders only just turned inward. Then Urick waved a hand, trying for a smile. He returned it, only partially hidden behind a curtain of blonde hair.

“So, uh… We’d better get back.”

“Yes.” He nodded, straightening his back, lowering his nervous hands to rest by his sides. At some point he’d wrung them, could feel it in the warm patches of skin that still tingled. Urick ushered him through the door and he kept his gaze forward for the walk to the courtyard, straining not to lean towards the warmth of the man beside him.

-

He drinks a little more wine at supper that night, ignoring the mess Zhangpo makes at the table and avoiding the looks Hanch gives him over her colorful assortment of food. He does not look often in Urick’s direction, but smiles at the sound at his voice. Gismor smirks at them through the haze of smoke, meat and drink, Oror fondly listening as those who have made Knight celebrate as loudly as they can get away with. The food is good, and he savors the flavors on his palate, pausing when aware that his actions have drawn an audience. Brown eyes peer back at him with a muddled intensity that is familiar, the heat leaving his stomach and spreading out, leaving him slightly chilled.

He chases it down with wine, wiping his lips rather than licking them and finally listens to the questions Hanch asks. Her voice is not as unpleasant as many think, not to him, and it drowns out the feeling of being watched.

The woman’s inquiries quickly bewilder him and he forgets about the look for a while.

It is after most have left and gone to bed that he chances the same, brushing the tips of his fingers over the pouch at his side. His stave lies in his room, but he has other weapons. The hall is dim but he can see quite well between the torches, unsurprised when another set of feet begin to step alongside his own.

“You were waiting.” The figure turns towards the sound of his voice, his expression a mix of alert and enchanted. He stops himself from trying to guess how much this man has had to drink, as the flush across his square face says enough. The glitter of eyes in the half-darkness does too.

“You’re beautiful, even if you aren’t a woman.” There is an accent he cannot place in the man’s voice, but drink has not addled it much. It surprises him, reminds him to be wary. The eyes rake across him, his simple uniform, pausing at the sharp peaks of his ears and lingering. He’s aware of some of the things said outside his immediate presence, knows how little of it is good.

“And what do you intend with your observation?” Instead of drawing back he steps forward, into a pool of flickering torchlight and tilting his head enough for his eyes to catch the illumination. The stranger’s breath catches, and he wonders what it is this man sees. If he is truly beautiful, or something terrifying.

There is a hungry part of him that wants for both.

His audience seems to remember his earlier bravado as he draws himself up, smiling, leering in response. “That mean you’d be amiable to company? I’m of rank and you wouldn’t want for comfort during the evening. If you’re not _mooning_ that is.”

Yaha hears the stab, smiles because of it.

He is beautiful and this man wants him, it is power and the taste is heady.

All it takes is a step forward and a few words, the man puts himself in the elf’s hands and bends like yew to his whim.

-

There is heat and a rushing in his veins, rough hands not his own on his body and it feeds something hungry and dark inside of him. They are almost of a height and he can nearly pretend it is the one he wants wants wants wants badly enough to do something foolish. His breath leaves his chest in cries for more and in the candlelight he is a thing of gold and exotic beauty, tremulously solid.

In the morning, he entertains the idea between brushing out the muss from his hair; skin alight still with the pleasure of his own luster.

-

He finds potential in the concept of a pact, the idea of rising above Knight and towards something more- of becoming more for Urick. It is around this time that Oror brings a child and a dragon with him, the boy a jumble of limbs and endearingly pure blue eyes that stare with innocent interest at everything. The dragon only stays for the boy, watching them all with narrow red eyes.

He makes his pact with the Gnomes, amazed and amused as the mark takes its place on his body. Upon looking in the mirror he sees the beauty his pact-partners have given him: a deeper gold in his hair, his skin smooth and unblemished, eyes that seem to faintly glow with an inner light.

If there is a change in his voice, he cannot hear it. 

The Gnomes watch him as he stands transfixed by his own reflection, their voices raised in what sounds like a gaggle of children’s laughter. He thinks nothing of it at first, for they seem simple and easily amused for the moment.

When he returns to the Grand Shrine all eyes linger on him, even those of Zhangpo and Hanch. The tiny human goes quiet, apparently forgetting his insatiable appetite. Hanch stares openly, her mouth agape for a moment before the expression clouds over with darkening anger. He sees things in them, knows information previously hidden-

_There is a woman Zhangpo lusts for, though his unquenchable hunger distracts him often. She wears her hair in curls and flirts with the stable boys when no one is looking._

_Hanch has more than just that, her indulgences fill the air around her thin frame and he wants to laugh at them, how little they do to abate her misery._

He has heard that she was beautiful once, enough to be called “Sunsmile”, but now no longer holds that charm. It must be cruel indeed, to see him as he is now, he thinks. Smiling gently, he passes them by and climbs the stairs into the Shrine proper. More eyes are drawn to him as he goes, faces flood with color and both men and women acquire a dazed look if they meet his gaze.

There is much clouding his head as he looks at them, wants and desires and the ones they wish would fulfill those unspoken urges. It sours his mood slightly, so he stares forward instead, tipping his hat just enough to cover his eyes.

The one he wants to see is not here, and he can’t help but feel disappointed.

He stops in one hall as a young girl chases Oror’s dragon child, the boy calling for her to follow and she laughing breathlessly. It stuns him, momentarily, that nothing surges into his mind at the sight of them. The air around them is clear, blessedly clear of any wants beyond each other’s simple company and it is enough to draw a chuckle from his lips.  
Innocent children are beyond the gift the Gnomes have given him, and he finds it fitting.

He finds his room is empty as he left it, and he spends time disrobing and exploring the new planes of his body. His skin is indeed soft, hard muscle just beneath from his training and fighting. There is no answering stir from the attentions to his body, but he dismisses it for now.

He has succeeded, even if there are unexpected side-effects from the pact and victory has begun to leave him weary. Naked, he climbs into bed and lets sleep claim him with a smile.

-

A pressure on his shoulder jolts him awake, eyes blinking dazedly in the darkness of his room. His hand reaches for his stave, but he catches sight of the one holding him and stops, surprised by how well he can see in the evening gloom.

Evening? He hadn’t meant to sleep for so long.

“Yaha? Sorry I scared you. Just like old times, huh?” He could hear the smile in the other’s voice, feeling his own mouth mirror the expression even if the human male couldn’t see. The hand leaves his shoulder and weight dips his bed, he sits up to meet it, pushing hair from his face.

There is a sound like children’s laughter from under his bed, but he seems to be the only one who hears it.

“It is alright, Urick. I did not intend to sleep for so long.” He leans to the side, reaching for the candle beside his bed and lights it with a word; missing the sudden shift in atmosphere in the wake of his own voice.

When he turns to Urick, he sees the man frozen in shock, eyes as wide as he’s ever seen them. Like Hanch that afternoon, his mouth hangs slightly open; the deep pink of his tongue and the whites of his teeth striking in the faint light. He smiles, surprising himself with boldness as he reaches out to gently close Urick’s mouth with a finger. His ears pick up the wet sound of the man’s mouth closing, when he breathes in he can smell Urick.

His friend does not move, only continues to stare.

“Have I left you at a loss for words, dear Urick?” His fingers linger on the man’s jaw, but he does not seem to hear. There is the same dazed look on his face that others had possessed when they’d met his gaze directly, and he found the sudden urge to lick his lips. “What do you see in me that has you so entranced?”

He could not hear the laughter of the Gnomes grow louder, not over the quickening of his heartbeat.

Not when he could finally touch Urick’s face, trace the shape of his jaw and feel the stubble prickle his skin, the surprising softness of his lip against his thumb.

“You… You’ve changed.” There was confusion in his dear one’s voice, as if he did not understand what was before him, could not reconcile this Yaha with the one he knew. He let himself laugh, softly, only a little as he leaned forward; spurred by something, a part of him that knew no boundaries to contain it, and pressed his lips to Urick’s.

His hands were moving, he knew in a dim way, the knowledge overshadowed for the moment. The body under his palms, his curious fingers, was large and warm, perfect. Everything about Urick was perfect, from the tiny curl of his hair to the many intricacies of his smile. Urick didn’t move, not even to breathe it seemed as he kissed him. He understood- it was sudden, unexpected, but the other man wasn’t pushing him away and he was so excited just to be this close, to have this exquisite moment.

He found the collar of Urick’s shirt and pulled him closer, forgetting his new strength, eliciting a startled noise from the man. Hands found his arms, pulled back as if burned, then settled on his shoulders and that broke something in the elf.

Never had Urick touched him when he’d displayed his affections for him.

He pressed into the larger male, kissing the pliant lips hard and quick. Abandoning his collar, his fingers wound into the man’s white hair, thumbs rubbing gentle circles into his temples. The hands on his shoulders tightened their grip and pushed him back, Urick sucking in a great breath of air when they parted.

Yaha licked his lips, swallowing thickly. His head buzzed, skin tingling from contact. Urick’s hands kept him at an arm’s length, and now he could see that his dear one was shaking. He blinked, coming down from the frenzy that had seized him.

“Urick-“

“No.” The word was low, forceful and it pushed the breath from the elf’s lungs. Urick’s head remained bowed enough that his hair obscured his face, but as he reached to clear it the man pushed his hands firmly into the bed, held them there so he could not touch their owner. “No, Yaha. I told you. I _told you._ ”

Confusion settled in, a thicket over hypersensitive nerves.

“Urick, I thought you wanted me. You don’t touch me when I- I like you as more than a friend Urick.” The words came out trembling, grasping for the pieces of thought that had propelled him this far. “I thought if I were more beautiful you might-“

“You _what_?” Blue blue blue eyes stared hard into amber as the man raised his head, incredulity and hurt warring in his now husky voice. Something quite like betrayal lurked in Urick’s face, turning Yaha’s insides into uncomfortable knots. “You made a pact to make yourself more attractive just so I would want you _sexually_?”

Words dried up in the elf’s mouth, lips parting only to uselessly stay so. Whatever charm had held Urick spellbound had been broken, now left the elf feeling naked and foolish and utterly _stupid_. He shifted, testing the grip on his hands and found it to be still firm.

“I wanted to love you, for you to… to love me as I did you.” The air around Urick was clear, free of any images of would-be loves or partners- even himself. It dropped a shard of ice into his chest, adding to the feeling that something was… missing. Perhaps not in Urick, but in himself.

Urick’s eyes closed and he inhaled very slowly before he opened them again. Yaha stared back, curling long fingers into the blanket. In a movement, Urick released his hands and stood; he was in shadow and moving towards the door and Yaha tried to scramble after him, name on his tongue and a plea ringing in his soft voice.

“We’re done, Yaha.”

Wood, rough and solid, pressed into his hand as he called after the man, his feet somehow rooted to the floor. He wanted to run after him, apologize, touch him, kiss him again but his legs would not move.

Behind, under the bed, the Gnomes cackled with their childlike laughter.

-

He is Lieutenant Yaha within months and his is the District of Precious Light, his soul tied to the Holy Crystal of Light and he is alone within the Citadel built into the mountainside ages ago. Some among the Knights say it was made by the Empire that fell eighteen years ago, but he does not know if that is the truth.

In the Citadel he weaves traps to protect the Crystal, himself, and the Gnomes that are his pact-beasts. Walls fade into oblivion under his command, illusion takes their place- mysterious winds push intruders back out into halls filled with soldiers under his banner, magicians and archers practice their craft from the ramparts. His District is a wasteland that receives little in the way of natural light, so torches are lit amongst the scattered ruins leading up to the Citadel of Light. From a distance, he knows they flicker and beckon like fey lights in the woods where elves used to live; Minotaur’s and Elite Knights await those foolish enough to follow them.

He has found the price of his pact, tried to fight against it, demand it back- but the Gnomes cackle and wave their pickaxes at him in humor and threat. They are like children, innocence wielded as a deadly weapon and they love to cause pain to humans. He hates them, some days. But they are his most frequent company, and no matter where he sleeps they are under his bed and it is the glow of their eyes and the glint of their teeth which frighten his attendants, messengers and lovers away.

Eyes follow him wherever he goes, desires made known inside his mind with but a look and he makes a game of it. Of their adoration, for others, themselves, and himself. Hands touch him, stroke and caress his perfect flesh but he feels nothing; excitement quickens his heart and breath but no pleasure comes either by his hand or anyone else’s.

He is a cracked, damaged thing, luster all gone.

-

Oror is killed and Urick goes missing, and for all he sends agents to look for him there is less than a wisp of smoke to track down and part of him fears the worst. But the Seal in the District of Shining Life holds strong and that is consolation to him. Gismor assumes his place as General of the Knights. A lass named Eris climbs through the ranks with astonishing speed, fashioning for herself a glittering military career. From what news reaches his ears, she pulls Oror’s dragon child behind her, although the boy remains a squire for some time.

He is there to watch the boy weather Gismor’s insults and be promoted to a Knight, his only real interest is in the fact that the space around the young man is clear and no information spills into his mind. As he looks at the lad’s dear friend, however, he sees that she is quite the opposite.

He does not see the girl again, but the boy brings trouble to his door. Zhangpo and Hanch lie dead and their District Keys destroyed. He knows when they reach his lands and opens the door with a silent command from the depths of the Citadel.

Someone is with Oror’s adopted son: a girl leading the rebellion against the Knights and a man, a man who knows his tricks well enough to guide the children through his keep. He senses them more clearly as they delve deeper into the Citadel, and when they reach the dungeons he can practically taste the magic the girl possesses- can feel the presence of the dragon child like a shadow over his skin.

It is their third member which makes him take a deep breath, chest tightening from… fear? Excitement? Longing?

He does not know, but as they stand before the Holy Crystal he greets them, sees them as they are. The girl, Manah, has wisps reaching for her but she has her back to them and towards these men she has only marginal curiosity. Nowe (how he’d grown, so handsome and his eyes so beautiful) had only the faintest stirrings of attraction, and the masked man beside him (Urick, beloved, dearly missed Urick) remained unbound as before.

The Gnomes fight them and he speaks to his intruders, tempts them as he has others. Nowe sends glances in-between outrunning the traps laid by burrowing Gnomes, confusion and unease twisting his handsome face. The girl weaves between his pact-beasts with deadly grace and summons the elements to strike them, of the three she is the only to guess at their weakness.

Urick brings his scythe down on the Rock Gnome’s head and Yaha feels a hot wetness seep from his scalp. His Gnomes are dying, crumbling into rubble and leaves and he feels the strength leaving his body alarmingly fast.

He staggers, finding Urick’s pale blue eyes in that mask fashioned as a skull. This close, he can feel the energy of a pact, almost imagine what it must be. Copper weighs his tongue but his last words are ones of love.

Yaha collapses and knows no more.


End file.
